lancer | diarmuid ua duibhne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ua_duibhne) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-06-27 12:00 am
ua_duibhne) wrote in middaeg2019-06-27 12:00 am
Entry tags:
[closed] why don't you tell me what do you need
Who: Diarmuid and Berserker
When: Late June
Where: The Coven
What: Walking Disasters of varying degrees of messiness make either a very good or very bad decision and Bond.
Warnings:whoops this got spicy nsfw
[Tuesday at the Coven, 8pm, if your mind is still made up.
Though Diarmuid knows that Berserker isn’t the kind of man that will go back on his word or shrink away from a difficult task, he still wouldn’t blame him if he decided not to show up. After all, he himself had started to have a few doubts about the whole thing upon initiating that temporary Bond with Waver. Now that he’s experienced it for himself, the reality of what he's agreed to has made itself very clear. Is he ready for what he might find in Berserker's mind? Or, for that matter, the potential ache of what quiet, deeply buried self-truths might be unearthed in his own?
Well, it hardly matters. The fact is that the vow that they’re supposed to swear to each other in the ceremony was, in his eyes, already half made on that night in the maze. Whatever uncertainties he might have felt in the past few days, they've never lasted long against the memory of Berserker's eyes, wild with something uncontrollable and animalistic. No, he has a duty to uphold the promise he made as a Knight and- strange though it is to think it- someone who was gifted with his trust. Speaking of which, he’s given only a small amount of thought to the words he’s going to be speaking tonight and he would wager that Berserker has devoted even less to it, if any at all. But it’s fine. They’ll discuss it when the time comes. There are only a handful of things that Diarmuid is set on including and none of them are likely to be sentiments that he'll object to anyway.
As things are, the Lancer-turned-witch has declined waiting in the well-lit lobby in favour of taking a seat on the steps of one of the many grand entrances to the Coven. The summer sun has long since given way to a cooler evening and, in the gloom, he makes for a particularly solitary figure in his dark cloak. With only a small orb of light- a spell he’s mastered since their expedition- bobbing around his head for a light and nerves starting to gnaw at his resolve, it’s no wonder that he’s paying very little attention to the book in his lap.
... the nature of the lycanthrope’s relationship with the full moon is a double edged sword, drawing them further from their humanity but...
He snaps it shut.
In some ways, Berserker really is much easier to handle than Waver. Hopefully, he won’t keep him waiting too long. Sighing, he glances back up into the courtyard, brushing aside that defiant curl as he tries to pick out the large, prowling shape of the other Servant.]
When: Late June
Where: The Coven
What: Walking Disasters of varying degrees of messiness make either a very good or very bad decision and Bond.
Warnings:
[Tuesday at the Coven, 8pm, if your mind is still made up.
Though Diarmuid knows that Berserker isn’t the kind of man that will go back on his word or shrink away from a difficult task, he still wouldn’t blame him if he decided not to show up. After all, he himself had started to have a few doubts about the whole thing upon initiating that temporary Bond with Waver. Now that he’s experienced it for himself, the reality of what he's agreed to has made itself very clear. Is he ready for what he might find in Berserker's mind? Or, for that matter, the potential ache of what quiet, deeply buried self-truths might be unearthed in his own?
Well, it hardly matters. The fact is that the vow that they’re supposed to swear to each other in the ceremony was, in his eyes, already half made on that night in the maze. Whatever uncertainties he might have felt in the past few days, they've never lasted long against the memory of Berserker's eyes, wild with something uncontrollable and animalistic. No, he has a duty to uphold the promise he made as a Knight and- strange though it is to think it- someone who was gifted with his trust. Speaking of which, he’s given only a small amount of thought to the words he’s going to be speaking tonight and he would wager that Berserker has devoted even less to it, if any at all. But it’s fine. They’ll discuss it when the time comes. There are only a handful of things that Diarmuid is set on including and none of them are likely to be sentiments that he'll object to anyway.
As things are, the Lancer-turned-witch has declined waiting in the well-lit lobby in favour of taking a seat on the steps of one of the many grand entrances to the Coven. The summer sun has long since given way to a cooler evening and, in the gloom, he makes for a particularly solitary figure in his dark cloak. With only a small orb of light- a spell he’s mastered since their expedition- bobbing around his head for a light and nerves starting to gnaw at his resolve, it’s no wonder that he’s paying very little attention to the book in his lap.
... the nature of the lycanthrope’s relationship with the full moon is a double edged sword, drawing them further from their humanity but...
He snaps it shut.
In some ways, Berserker really is much easier to handle than Waver. Hopefully, he won’t keep him waiting too long. Sighing, he glances back up into the courtyard, brushing aside that defiant curl as he tries to pick out the large, prowling shape of the other Servant.]
no subject
Just for tonight, he wanted to hold him- let him be his knight too.
In defiance of every instinct screaming at him to stop, the kisses against his neck turn adoring, mixed with murmured assurances. Please, don't hold back. Things truly are slipping completely out of his control now but maybe that's why his heart is drumming so hard, why his blood is coursing so hotly through his veins, why he can't bring himself to care that this is too personal.
He pumps his shaft with more haste now, suddenly more aware of the unfamiliar ridges against his palm. If this is what he wants, he'll give it to him.]
no subject
Each motion draws a soft sound from him, continuing to rock up into the rhythm. His cock throbs from the attention, a bit of pre-come dribbling from the tip. There's an unfortunate reality that he could hit his peak at any moment -- how intense all of this is, paired with how long he'd denied himself is a dangerous combination. He'll hold it back as long as he can.
He balances himself on one hand, his other trailing lower on Diarmuid's body to settle in between his thighs. Such eagerness should be repaid, but it's so hard for him to say it. It's difficult to focus on anything but the sensations being given to him, his senses completely overwhelmed. ]
Do you want the same from me? [ The same strained whisper as before. ] I'll give you anything you ask.